


Paranormal

by gothambeat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 13:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothambeat/pseuds/gothambeat
Summary: It's always the simple cases that go to shit. Now, well, now there are two sets of Winchesters. At least girl Dean is hot.





	1. Chapter 1

“Wake up, beautiful!”

The voice sang out into the run-down motel room from the bathroom where dirty was the cleanest part of the features. When there wasn’t a response, a sandy blonde stuck her head from around the corner, eying the large lump of blankets on the second queen-sized bed.

“Earth to Sammy, we gotta get going.”

The lump only turned over to become more indistinguishable from the pile on the other bed. If there was a groan, it was obscured by the fabric. Deana grinned before letting out the chorus to “Heat of the Moment” in an obnoxiously loud cheer.

Samantha rose from the bed like the Mummy from a crypt with a tired but intense glare.

“You know I hate that song,” she said in a voice still hoarse with sleep.

“Yeah yeah,” Deana said, waving her off. “Classic hater.” She tossed a shirt to her sister and returned to the bathroom.

Samantha smelled the shirt before throwing it onto her duffle bag with a grimace. They really needed to do some laundry. She could hear the water running and Deana spit as she rummaged for something decent to put on.

“Why are you up and perky?” she asked, casting a glance at the clock. It wasn’t like her to be the early riser. Samantha wasn’t sure when Deana even got in last night but here she was, all smiles.

“That diner’s breakfast ends at eleven,” Deana responded. She flipped the light off in the bathroom as she emerged, already dressed in the same plaid shirt she’d been sporting the last three days. According to her, overshirts could be worn until they got guts on them as long as the undershirt was clean. Samantha seriously doubted rinsing a tank top in the sink with hand soap meant a tank top was “clean” but that was an argument she didn’t want to have right now.

“Uh huh,” she said instead, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans. The worn fibers felt soft and she could remember a few of the hunts this particular pair had been through. “And that has nothing to do with the waiter we met there yesterday.”

“Maybe I want to start the day with some sunshine.” Deana flashed a smile. “Come on, let’s go.”

Samantha rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. 

“You’re such an ass,” she said.

Deana waved from the doorway. “Yeah, yeah, and you’re a dick.”

**

“Sugar?” the waiter asked with a smile in his eye. Samantha tried to ignore it while Deana gave him a flirty gaze.

“Most just call me Deana.” The waiter gave a good-humored smile, stuffing his hands back into the pockets of his apron.

“I just meant if you needed some.”

Deana lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip, keeping his eyes locked the whole time. “I like it black,” she said.

“Right.” The waiter nodded then stepped back then decided he wasn’t needed and walked away.

Deana watched him go with an interested tilt to her head. “Mmm. Perky.”

Samantha lost the appetite for her own coffee. “What is with you today?”

Deana looked back to her sister, setting down the mug. She took a bite from her many pieces of bacon. “What?”

“This,” Samantha said. “You’re awake and flirting and it’s not even noon yet- oh my god.”

Deana stopped chewing. “What?”

“You got laid.”

Deana, for as cool as she was with men, could barely keep the giddy smile from spreading across her face. 

Samantha sighed. Well at least that solved one mystery. It’d been so long no wonder De was nearly bouncing off the walls.

“Glad you’re feeling better,” she said, watching her sister eat heartedly. She got an eye roll in return. “I mean it. After everything that happened, it’s nice to see you, I dunno. Happy.” 

“Well,” Deana said as she swallowed and knocked back her glass of orange juice. “Happier. I guess. I just mean, getting Cassie back was a win. Now we find Devil-girl and fix whatever the hell is going on.”

Samantha wished Deana would stop using that nickname for Jane but didn’t want to push her luck.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked, finally setting down her fork. 

Samantha pulled her laptop from her bag and pulled up the research she spent most of the night working on.

“All victims had ties to the closed factory,” she said as she brought up the death certificates. “No deaths on the property but there was a lot of controversy surrounding the place.”

“Around a meat factory?” Deana asked, eyeing her bacon. Apparently it looked just fine because she finished off the piece and picked up another.

Samantha spun her laptop to show her sister her screen. “There was a pretty big legal battle around the treatment of animals,” she said. “There’s a dozen articles on protests outside.”

“Vegans,” Deana muttered, like the term was a curse word. “So this is a hippie ghost?”

“Yeah but victims were miles away.”

“Possession?”

“Ghost or demon?”

Deana shrugged. “Either. Worth checking out the place all the same.” She pulled her wallet out and pulled out a few bills.

“Dude,” Sammy said. Deana looked up with confusion. “He offered you sugar, not to eat you out.”

“I like his butt.”

**

The closed factory was tagged with simple graffiti, the kind found in a town full of bored teenagers and not full fledged gangs. The outside brick was vandalized with rebellious red and black paint in messages like "America is dead" or "This place sucks" and other clever statements.

Most of the machines hadn’t stayed around long, leaving holes in the wall and large sections of space full of stagnant air. Sunlight filled the top windows but Deana turned her flashlight on to see the finer details in the corners of the large space.

“There’s nothing here,” she said, trying not to suck in the dust swimming through her flashlight’s beam. “This is the least haunted abandoned place we’ve been in.”

“I’ll check the offices,” Sammy said, walking back towards the metal staircase leading up to the windowed rooms. “Maybe there were documents left behind.”

Deana doubted they’d find anything useful here. No EMF readings and no sulfur they could smell or find meant ghost and demon could be checked off. Demon possession had always been a stretch but these days they couldn’t know.

She walked deeper into the factory, pushing plastic sheets aside. Spray paint covered the walls back here and Deana paused. The only graffiti had been outside yet back here every few feet sported a colored word. The clashing colors caught her eye. There was something these words covered.

Deana squinted, trying to read the pink under the red paint but it wasn’t words or drawings. It was a curved line, spirling. A symbol.

She cursed. She couldn’t tell what the symbol was but if this place was marked, then they could be dealing with witches.

Damn deaths had looked like suicides. Not the creepy puke-up-needles witches seemed to enjoy. And they hadn’t found any hex bags. 

She looked around more, trying to find any signs of activity. A few bones, some leaves and dust. Nothing too out of the ordinary but could be evidence of an old spell. The symbols were covered and powerless. Whatever mojo was cast here was long gone. Motive but not cause.

She scratched at the paint and the red flaked off. She looked around and found a hard-bristle brush. She went to the wall, working away the paint. As she finished, the pink symbol began to glow. She stepped away, shielding her eyes as the light engulfed her and spread throughout the factory.

When it receded, she peeked through her arms at the wall. The pink symbol was still there and Deana checked she was still intact. Breasts? Head? Hips? Okay, she was definitely in one piece.

“What was that?” Sam called from the main space. 

Deana took a picture of the symbol with her phone before joining her sister. “You good?”

Sammy nodded. “You?”

“Yeah, I just stumbled across an old altar.” Deana tossed Sam her phone as they exited the factory.

“Witches?” Sam asked, following her sister out into the parking lot. The impala sat across from the building, the trunk pointing towards the entrance for fast retrieval. 

Sam looked at the picture of a pink spiral curl as Deana unlocked the car and pulled open the door.

“I don’t recognize this.”

“Me neither,” Deana said, leaning on the roof. “But think about it. Vegans and wiccans? Practically the same thing right.”

Samantha considered it as she climbed in and grimaced at the smell of the car. She hadn’t noticed the male B.O. this morning but she could pick it out through the stale beer scent now. 

“So you think a witch shut down the factory and now they’re going after the workers?”

The impala roared to life around them. Deana paused before pulling out and looked like she was looking for something.

“What?” Sam asked.

Deana adjusted the rear-view mirror and then adjusted it back. “Nothing. Let’s go. I’m starving.”

“You just ate!”

Deana grinned. “Long night.”

**

Sammy flipped through her mother’s journal, scanning for any similarities to the pink spiral spray painted on the walls. She shifted for the third time, unable to get comfortable in the car seat. It was like all the cushioning had been pounded out of it, sat in by someone heavier than her. It aggravated her enough to make the reading more work than interesting.

A knock on her window made her look up. A good-looking man smiled at her and she groaned internally. She hated these pick-ups, when men used cars as a way to flirt. She wished De would hurry up with the coffee and food so they could get out of here and check out the houses again.

He knocked again when she didn’t respond and she clicked the window.

“Look, I’m not inter-” 

She found the turn-down dying in her throat as a gun raised to her forehead.

“Hi there,” the man said, the smile still on his face. It looked strained now, like it was easier to smile than reveal the true anger behind his words. “Mind telling me why you’re in my car?”

Samantha grew up under strange situations and still found herself surprised. The idea that the impala belonged to this macho man made her scoff. “Your car?” she asked, taken aback. “Keep dreaming, buddy.”

He, too, seemed surprised as this wasn’t the reaction he anticipating when carjacking and cocked his head to the side. 

“I am not your buddy, toots,” he said. “Now get out of the car before I make you.”

Samantha wondered if he was the type of heartless jerk who would shoot someone in the head in such a classic car or if he’d tried to pull her through the window. She kept his eye locked, putting the odds against each other as she watched her solution approach.

“Don’t call her toots,” Deana said, cocking the pistol so he knew exactly what was against the back of his head. “You picked the wrong car to steal, pal.”

The man scowled as he looked at her from the corner of her eye but the sound of another gun cocking drew both girls’ attention.

Another man, much taller, pointed a gun at Deana. Sammy cursed in her head for not paying more attention.

“We’re not stealing it,” the newest man said. He sounded sincere though his jaw was set. “You did. We’re taking it back.”

None of that made sense to Samantha. It was an odd thing to keep insisting while trying to steal car. But why would they think they had stolen the impala when it had been sitting outside the factory right where they parked it? She thought back, not recalling any other cars in the lot or even in the area. Still, something nagged at the back of her mind.

The seats, the smell, that feeling of being somewhere not-quite-familiar. Sammy pulled open the glove compartment while the others outside argued.

“This is our car,” Deana said. “So you and pretty boy just step off.”

“You got good taste in cars,” the first guy said, “but you’re not taking mine.”

“Good taste because it’s mine,” Deana shot back.

“De,” Sammy said, fingering all the fake I.Ds.

“Look, we don’t want this to turn violent,” the bigger one said but he was cut off.

“The hell we do,” the other one said, still pointing at Sam’s head. “You stole our car, we’re not gonna argue about it.”

“De,” Sammy tried again, feeling the pit of her stomach sink further.

“I will blow your pretty face off if you don’t stop pointing that at my sister,” Deana said, venom in her voice.

“Deana!”

Finally, the girl looked over. “What, Sammy?”

Samantha held up two of the fake IDs, both featuring the faces of the men outside. There were more in the box - FBI, rangers, drivers and more - all like the ones that were supposed to be in the glove compartment with **their** pictures on them. And badges. And permits. 

“I think we have a problem.”

**

Alternate dimensions sucked ass. After a few world-jumping adventures, Deana decided she would never like these situations. 

Calmer heads prevailed over the situation with the car. Apparently her baby wasn’t actually **her** baby and the jackass was telling the truth. That same jackass was actually her. With a penis. From a different universe.

She huffed, trying to fight the urge to punch his face. 

Samantha looked through the journal Sam - their Sam, a giant among men - offered while he scanned theirs. Dean, the male version of her, accepted her staring challenge and mirrored her crossed arms.

Everything about him was wrong. She should’ve been taller or broader or at least not so handsome. She shouldn’t be a **pretty** man. Hunters shouldn't be pretty. He had the same eyes as her and it was like looking in a funhouse mirror. The more she stared, the worse it got. Like she could feel the warped mutation happening to herself. She squeezed her chest with her tight arms slightly, just enough to reassure she was still female.

“So you grew up with your mom?” 

The question brought Deana out of her thoughts and back into the booth where the two sets of siblings sat.

“Yeah,” she said. “Mom was the hunter. Dad didn’t even know about it.”

“But the fire,” Dean said, like he was insulted.

Deana didn’t like the questioning. If they were the same people, wouldn’t they have the same history?

“Dad walked in on the demon in Sammy’s room,” Deana said. “He died in the fire. Mom went after Azazel for revenge.” She scowled at the memory. “She never forgave herself.”

Sammy - her Sammy - tried a lighter tone. “What about you guys? Mom raised you, you raised Lucifer, then maybe stopped armageddon a few times?”

“Our Dad,” their Sam said. “We didn’t know our mom was a hunter until after he passed. But yeah, sounds pretty similar.”

“This is ridiculous,” Dean said. “You can’t be us.”

“We’re not,” Deana said. “You’re us.”

“De.” Samantha gave her look, telling her not to start a fight. “We once got transported to a world where our life was just a television show so this isn’t that farfetched.”

Sam glanced at Dean who only seemed to scowl more. “Do you deal with angels?” he asked.

Samantha nodded. “Could use Cassie now, actually.”

“Cassie?” Dean asked. “Cas is in your world too?”

“This is so weird,” Deana sighed. “Next you’ll tell me there’s an antichrist on this world too.”

Another look exchanged between Sam and Dean and Samantha’s stomach dropped again.

“No way.”

“Jack,” Sam said.

“Jane,” Samantha said.

“Is everyone on your world a chick?” Dean asked.

“Only the important people,” Deana shot back. “Is everyone on yours a dick?”

Sam barely hid his smile as Samantha sighed. Two of them. There were two of them now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one hates Dean more than Dean himself. Er, herself?

The sulking was so thick Sam practically felt it radiate from his brother. It simmered in the air as he drank his beer, glaring at the wall. It was the most useful thing he could think to do.

“Come on, man,” he said finally, unable to hold it in any longer. “Chicks?”

Sam expected the outburst ten minutes earlier so he didn’t mind too much. He looked over from the computer with a shrug. “Like they said, not the strangest thing we’ve come across.”

“This is pretty strange,” Dean said, taking another long drink. “I mean, what’s the point?”

“Of women?”

Dean leveled a look at Sam.

“If our story is the same, why even- Why does it exist? Why do we exist twice?” Same saw him getting more agitated not being able to express what exactly he was angry about.

“Well,” Sam said, finally vocalizing some of his own thoughts, “there is that parallel universe theory that every possibility exists. Maybe this is just the one where Dad had daughters and not sons.”

Dean scowled again. “And he found Azazel instead of Mom?”

Sam shrugged. “I mean, it makes sense.”

“I dunno, man, seems like a little too much girl power for me.”

Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer. Dean set his bottle down and reached for a new one when there was a knock at the door. He drew his gun before checking the peephole. The look told Sam he wasn’t happy to see the guest, despite him putting the pistol away.

“Started the party without us?” Deana said, grabbing the beer from the table and falling onto the couch. Samantha followed inside with a nod to Sam in greeting. “So, got anything?”

“Yeah sure, come on in,” Dean grumbled and got himself another drink.

The girls looked freshly showered and changed, no plaid in sight. Deana had her longer hair pulled back into a ponytail while Sam’s shorter hair sat at her shoulders. Sam wondered if she got comments on her hair the way he did but for opposite reasons. It was the little things, he guessed.

“We didn’t find any graffiti inside the factory,” Sam said. “And definitely didn’t recognize the symbol but get this - there was witch activity in the area two years ago when the factory closed.”

“Freaking witches,” De and Dean said at the same time. They glared at each other.

“How can you tell,” Samantha asked. She joined Sam at the computer, reading over his shoulder.

“Well, it’s just a guess but the factory lawyer died under mysterious circumstances.”

“How mysterious?” Dean asked.

“Threw up cow bones,” Samantha said. “Points for originality.”

“Why go after the workers now?” Deana asked. “The witch got what they wanted right? Closed the factory, freed the cows.”

Sam sighed. “You didn’t get any EMF readings at the factory?” he asked. 

Deana raised her eyebrows at him. “We told you we didn’t. It’s not a ghost.”

“Yeah, well, we did.” Dean leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “The place lit up.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Samantha said. “There wasn’t a death on the property.”

“The lawyer?” Deana offered. 

“Not inside the building,” Sam said. He flipped through a few of the news articles he had pulled up and paused at one. Samantha leaned forward, pointing. “Wait.”

“Yeah. That could be it.”

“What?” Both Deana and Dean asked. Again, they glared at each other.

“Apparently the lawyer was addressing the protesters when he started coughing up blood,” Sam said.

“EMTs took him to the hospital but he was pronounced dead on arrival,” said Samantha.

“So it’s the lawyer,” Dean said. “Easy. Let’s burn the guy and get these two-” Deana’s eyes challenged him to call her something. “...Us back to their proper universe.”

“Hold on,” Deana said, standing. “This makes no sense. There wasn’t any EMF in our factory, there was witchcraft. And a witch killed the lawyer in the first place.”

“You guys go burn the body,” Samantha said. “We can investigate the witch stuff.”

“Where would you even start?” Dean asked. “Not exactly ripe with leads here.”

“True but not everyone who died recently was a worker. One was a protester.”

Sam seemed to pick up the train of thought. “Maybe they knew something about the lawyer’s death.” Samantha nodded. “Worth looking at their stuff again.”

“Great,” Deana said. “You do that, I’m going to give the lawyer a proper ending.” She pulled open the door to a black-haired man in a trench coat. His arm was up like he was about to knock. “Holy hot wings.”

“Dean,” the angel said in the low montone. He studied the female with a curious look on his face and stepped inside the room. Looking over, he saw the male version. “Dean.” He looked back to the girl. “I’ve missed something.”

“Is this your Cassie?” Deana asked, poking the man in the shoulder. She circled him and he watched her without moving.

“Cas, this is,” Dean struggled with the words, “me. Deana, this is Cas.”

“You’re kinda hot,” Deana said with a grin. “I mean Cassie’s hot but I never thought about a male Cassie.”

Cas looked to Dean for help who shrugged. Samantha shook her head like this was typical of her sister. Maybe it was an alpha-female thing.

“You knew it was me,” Deana said. 

Cas looked back to her and she felt that familiar gaze fall upon her. Like power and sunshine all in one look. 

“You feel like him,” he said like it explained everything.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Come again?”

Cas considered his words. “You and I are connected. So are we.” He looked at Deana.

That was strange. How a connection could transcend the universes.

“Does that mean,” Sam theorized, “that you’re the same Cas in her universe.”

“Is God the same God?” Samantha asked. She looked at Sam, mirroring his expression. It was a strange sensation of looking at himself in the mirror but not actually seeing himself and he looked away quickly.

The question was loaded. If God was God, was he God of every universe or just of his universe? It'd explain why Chuck just disappeared if he had to keep track of every universe ever but Sam had met plenty of gods before. 

“My head hurts,” Deana said, speaking for all of them. “I’m gonna go dig up a body.” She cast one last look at the others in the room before leaving.

“Same,” Dean said and followed her out.

**

“I know this is weird,” Samantha said as she picked the lock to the dead man’s house, “but it’s nice to have company besides De. She gets grumpy when we go alternate universe.”

Sam gave a laugh and scanned the streets for trouble. “I know what you mean.”

“About this being weird or about De being grumpy?”

Sam supposed he agreed with both. He heard a click and the door opened.

“We’re in,” she said. She tucked her tools back into her bag and moved inside. Cas followed and Sam gave one last look outside before closing the door behind them.

The three used their flashlights to search the house. Sam watched Samantha scan every corner and entrance point before moving on to the next room. It was almost like watching Dean with clear confidence and leadership but not quite. She had a slow way of moving, graceful but careful. He wandered if that was what others saw in him.

Cas looked at a few magazines on the table near the door.

“What brought you to town, Cas?” Sam asked, looking through the drawers in the side table. He didn’t find anything suspicious.

“Dean called,” Cas said. “He sent me the picture of the symbol. I didn’t know it but I offered my help.”

Strange, considering he was so keen on his own mission. 

“Any word on Jack?”

“My leads have dried up at the moment.”

Well, it was still good to see the angel anyway. And having him around might keep the two Deans in check. Or at least from killing each other.

Sam moved into the kitchen where Samantha was checking the cupboards. He opened the fridge. Nothing but vegetables. 

“You didn’t find any hex bags at the office right?” Samantha asked, bending down to search the lower cupboards. 

“Nothing we found on any of the victims,” Sam said.

“We didn’t either. But we didn’t search his apartment.” She pulled out a book that looked old and worn. The brown cover revealed it wasn’t a regular cookbook. “Grimoire.” 

Sam turned, watching her flip through the pages. He could see the hand-written pages, symbols and notes on the pages.

“He was a witch.”

Samantha stood, still flipping pages. “Keyword ‘was’. Now he’s dead. Killed by a ghost.” She had a sour look on her face, like the clue didn’t help her at all.

“Revenge for getting the factory shut down and taking his life,” Sam offered.

She shook her head. “If he was the only witch, why the others?”

“You think there was coven?” She shrugged.

Cas entered the kitchen holding a basket of what looked like crystals, dried herbs and bones. “I found a clue.”

Samantha grinned at him. “Remind me to buy our Cassie a trench coat.”

**

Dean took a very long swig from the flask. A very, very long swig. Whiskey dulled the weird feeling of watching your female self shovel dirt out a grave and admit you looked pretty freaking hot doing it. Whiskey didn’t judge, it just numbed.

How could a girl go through the amount of shit he had been through and still look, well, like /that/. Blonde hair pulled into a ponytail out of the way of the work just exposed her neck and shoulders better. They were muscular and toned just like her abs which he could tell through her thin tank top. It rose up above her jeans when she lifted the shovel to throw the dirt out of the hole, exposing fresh flesh.

No, no way someone like that saw Hell, watched their family die, fought back a murderous mark of Cain. No way someone like that couldn’t be broken yet.

She looked at him and he almost dropped the flask in surprise from being caught in the act of spying.

“Gonna offer me some?” she asked.

He passed it to her and she took three swallows easily before passing it back. “Thanks.” She eyed him in the lantern light. “You know, you can just ask.”

“What?” Dean asked, hoping she’d drop it.

“You don’t believe me,” she said, leaning against the handle. “You got that look on your face. It looks like how I feel, that you couldn’t possibly be me.”

“One way to put it,” he said, replacing the cap to the flask. “Look, I got nothing against you-”

“Yes you do,” she said and continued digging. “If you’re anything like me, you probably hate me for keeping Sammy in this life. For getting Mom killed. For the mark. Becoming demon.”

“Wow,” Dean said, watching her rattle them off as she dug into the dirt. “It’s like a my greatest hits.”

She didn’t look up at him. “I hate you because we ended up the same. What’s the point of alternate universes if the world is just as messed up the next one over?” She finally looked up and saw him watching her.

He didn’t have an answer to that because he thought the same thing. What was the point if every version of himself was some kind of screw up? Finally she lowered her head and began working again. Her shovel hit wood.

“Show time.”

He dropped down in the grave, helping her clear off the coffin. He pulled it open revealing the not-yet-decomposed body of the lawyer. Only two years so the guy still looked pretty fresh. Deana climbed out of the grave and returned with lighter fluid and salt.

They worked without talking. There was no need. Both had done the deed so much that they just went through the checklist. Salt. Fluid. Lighter. 

Dean flicked on the lighter when the wind started to kick up. Deana felt a chill run down her spine as the temperature dropped.

“You feel tha-” She never finished as her feet gave wave and felt herself dragged backwards through the cemetery grass.

“Dammit,” Dean cursed, closing the lighter and picking up his shotgun. By the time her was ready, though, a force pushed him into the air sending him flying over the grave and onto the dirt pile.

He pulled his head out of the mound, spitting and coughing. Something about graveyard dirt made him squirm but he had bigger things to worry about. The ghost of the man in the casket flickered into view in front of him. His expression was angry and he had Dean in his sights.

Goddamn lawyers. 

A shot rang out and the ghost exploded into smoke revealing Deana with the shotgun. She grinned at him and Dean gave her a thumbs up. He tried pushing himself out of the dirt-pile - a lot harder than he thought it’d be - when the wind picked up again.

“Heads up,” Deana called and let out a second shot. Apparently it didn’t hit because he saw her sailing over his head and the loud cussing that followed. 

He turned fast enough see the ghost charge him. He took out his lighter, flicking the flame on and tossed it into the coffin even as the lawyer surged towards him. The ghost ignited into fire as it passed through him.

Dean checked to make sure he was still in one piece. Satisfied that all was well, he rounded the mound of dirt to see Deana groaning and pulling herself off the ground.

“You ok?” he asked.

She waved at him as she stood, holding her hip with a tight smile. “As long as you got ‘im,” she said.

He grinned at her funny walk back towards the car.

“You need some ice for that?” he asked. She gave him the finger in response.


End file.
